(Suggested Story) The Pine Gulch Motel, Room 14 - The Smoking Room (Part 1)

Took a few suggestions from the box, and decided to have a little fun with the idea of a run down motel that warps the folks who come to stay at it into various kinds of pigs. The first one is a smoky entry, and a little inspired by Smokeout, you could say.

***

Ryan wasn’t particularly happy about stopping here for the night, but between road work and rush hour as they were passing through a nearby city on their road trip, he and his boyfriend, Matt, hadn’t made quite as much progress that day as they’d hoped. He pulled off the narrow two lane highway that their navigation map had steered them onto, allegedly a shortcut, and into the parking lot of the Pine Gulch Motel—though most of the lights on the sign kept flickering, leaving the sign as PiG Motel every once in a while.

“We’re really going to stop here?” Matt said from the passenger seat, “This place looks like a dump.”

Ryan resisted the urge to snap back at his boyfriend. They’d both had a long day, but that wasn’t the only reason why Matt was irritable. For the last year and a half of their relationship, Ryan had been urging Matt to quit smoking—something that Matt also wanted for himself—but it was a habit he’d had for years. He would quit for a month or two, and then slide back into it again. Matt had decided to use this trip as another attempt to quit, and it was going about as well as Ryan had anticipated. Matt had chewed his nicotine gum almost constantly since they’d left a couple of days ago, but that hadn’t stopped him from becoming more and more of an asshole as his withdrawal had kicked in. Ryan was almost at the point of buying him a pack of cigarettes himself, just so he’d stop being such a moody prick on their vacation.

“It does look like a dump—would you like to drive for another few hours in the dark on these windy roads, to see if there’s anything else out there?” Ryan said.

Matt grumbled something back, but got out of the car and followed Ryan into the motel office to check in.

The man behind the counter was an older man, a little greasy looking, squat and rather chubby, wearing a grungy looking wifebeater. He was friendly enough though, and didn’t ask any questions about why two young men might be traveling together, and why they were fine with a single queen bed, which Ryan was thankful for. They got their key to their room, moved their car across the mostly vacant lot, and parked in front of the door to their room, number 14. Ryan took the key to the door while Matt got their essential bags out of the car. He opened it up, and was immediately assaulted by a powerful odor in the room, and gave a cough.

“Fuck, it reeks in here, what is that?” Ryan said as Matt followed him into the room. “Oh—it’s a smoking room, that’s why it smells like that. Worse than most—but I wouldn’t expect a place like this to invest much in air freshener.”

“We can’t stay in a smoking room.”

“Who cares? It’s just for a night. You’ve slept with me plenty.”

“Yeah, but you’re trying to quit!”

“If anything, it’s calming me down, I’ll be honest.”

Ryan heaved an exasperated sigh, took the key and walked out the door, heading for the office to switch rooms. Matt just shrugged, and dropped the bags on the floor of the room, while the door swung shut behind him, leaving him alone inside. It did smell bad, but in all honesty, it didn’t bother Matt at all. He’d traveled for work for quite a few years, which was when he’d started smoking in the first place, and so he’d grown rather accustomed to the stale odor of a smoking hotel room. Ryan was right though—it did make his cravings even worse, and the gum he’d bought for the trip just wasn’t cutting it—not that he’d kidded himself that it would be enough.

In all honesty, the problem was that Matt liked smoking. He knew it was bad for him, knew all the dangers, the risks, knew how it turned people off, knew it made him more than a little anti-social, but he didn’t care. It felt good. There were so few things these days that felt good, it seemed worth it. Then he’d met Ryan, and for the first time, he’d found someone that seemed worth it to try and quit, but what dragged him back, every single time, wasn’t the addiction itself, it was just that Matt wanted, at the end of the day, to kick back with a cigarette, and enjoy feeling good for a long moment.

He took a deep breath and sighed, nostalgic. It wasn’t like he was high risk here anyway, there wasn’t a convenience store for miles probably. He went a little deeper into the room, and spied something odd resting on the beat up desk in the corner by the single window in the motel room. It was an odd looking wooden box, and when he went to investigate it, wondering what might be inside, he lifted the top, and found it was full of cigars. It was a humidor, a fully stocked humidor, just sitting in some sleazy motel room, and there, next to the box, was a torch, and a cigar punch.

He’d only smoked a few cigars in his life, usually at casinos with some friends from college who liked to smoke while they played poker. Matt had always preferred cigarettes for the immediate gratification, but he wouldn’t object too much, as he picked up a stick—and then put it back down. What was he thinking? He didn’t have time to smoke a cigar before Ryan got back to the room, probably with a new room key, and they’d have to move all of their stuff, and he’d be up half the night, jaw sore from chewing nothing but gum, thinking about the humidor here, and before he’d realized he’d done it, he had the cigar back in his hand, punched, and lit it with the torch.

The cigar was strong, and he inhaled it deep, making his head spin almost immediately, but the fucking rush—why hadn’t he ever smoked cigars more often? These felt even better than cigarettes. The smoke from the cigar filled the room with a haze, and Matt pulled off his shirt and dropped his pants without thinking much of it, sitting down in the office chair in just his briefs, groping his crotch and moaning around the cigar in his mouth.

Why the fuck did he keep trying? For Ryan? For the stuck up little asshole, who was always looking for opportunities to criticize him? Matt pulled his cock out, surprised at how hard he was, at how horny he was. Behind him, the haze settled over the bags he’d brought it, clouding them from view, and when it dissipated a few moments later, all of the bags had disappeared. No—Matt was done. This felt too good, it had always felt too good. He was done with Ryan—and as soon as he thought it, he could feel the smoke slide into his mind, covering up all of the memories he’d had of his boyfriend, and just like the bags behind him, in a few minutes, Matt didn’t even remember him at all, not even his name. He was too busy hauling on his cigar and stroking his cock, barely minding the ash dropping onto his growing belly. He didn’t have time to love anything other than cigars. He didn’t want to love anything other than cigars, and smoke, and sex. He came with a loud grunt, shooting a massive load of cum from his thick cock all over his now hairy belly, and rubbed it in, mixing it with the ash that had fallen there, but he didn’t care, not one bit. Why would a cigarpig like him give a fuck? He finished his first cigar, and grabbed a second, lighting it up, and stroking himself hard all over again, lost in a haze of pleasure.

To be concluded...